Grave Whispers
by storytelleric
Summary: She wakens from death under mysterious circumstances. How long has she been dead this time, and why did she return at this moment? A strange and dangerous new world awaits her. ** Proofread by user sabrina06. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Necri was back from the dead. Again.

The question 'how many times' didn't even occur to her anymore; she had long since lost track. Though her return to consciousness from the nothingness was immediate and complete, much like lighting a candle, she still took a few moments to reorient herself.

Her many deaths had left her body in poor shape. She was missing flesh around most of her joints, the bones held together by the remains of tendons and sinew. What skin remained was stark white, without even the delicate tracery of veins to discolour it. No blood coursed through her body anymore; instead, it was invisible arcane energy that kept her spirit housed within the decaying frame. The body could still be damaged or even destroyed, driving her unconscious spirit out into the Twisting Nether until the magic could knit her physical form back together, a process that usually took days, or weeks at most. It was never a perfect reconstruction, though. Each death marked her body in some way. Eventually, she assumed, she would lack a physical form entirely, becoming some form of ghost or banshee.

For now, though, she relaxed into her body, and could immediately feel that there was a constrictive pressure surrounding her. She opened her eyes, but despite the spiritual yellow lights that burned within the empty sockets, she could see nothing around her. It took several moments to realize she was wrapped in cloth bindings from head to toe, and that the cavity of her mouth was stuffed with some thick, hard substance. Lacking a sense of taste or smell, she had no way of knowing what that was.

Testing her bindings by flexing her limbs, she found them decayed; they tore easily, implying she had been here for some time. Slowly, she worked her way free, and found the next complication: she was trapped in a tiny wooden enclosure, barely big enough to fit her body.

A coffin.

There was no need to panic. Her undead body had no need for air or food - in fact, she could not even remember what those needs felt like. With methodical care, she freed herself from the rest of the bindings, discovering in the process that someone had hammered a wooden spike into her chest as well. She began pressing against the lid of the coffin. To her surprise, the nails holding it to the rest of the structure gave way relatively easily, each one squeaking with sharp protest as she popped it free. There was no oppressive weight bearing down on the lid, so wherever the coffin was, it had not been buried in earth. She had had that particular unpleasant experience before - having had to wait several months for the wood to decay enough for her to dig herself free.

It was not long before she was able to push the lid aside, revealing a large stone-walled room lined with dozens of coffin-sized nooks and shelves, into one of which her temporary residence had been placed. She rose to a sitting position, taking in the layers of dust and ancient spiderwebs that festooned the room. A grinding feeling against her ribcage reminded her of the stake, so she pulled it out and threw it away, ignoring the gaping hole it left behind. It would heal... mostly.

She levered herself over the edge of the coffin, her long-unused muscles reacting sluggishly and awkwardly to the sudden demands. With care, she squeezed out of the nook and dropped clumsily to the floor. The impact of her feet kicked up clouds of dust and sent bugs skittering off into the shadows. Step by step, she shuffled her way towards the room's oversized stone doors, avoiding more coffins that had been stacked chaotically throughout the room. Many had decayed into nothingness, leaving skeletons scattered amidst the debris.

Halfway to the door, she stopped, sensing motion. Turning slowly to her left, she watched as twin faint spots of flickering flame slowly resolved themselves into the eye sockets of a translucent demon. Though it had no other facial features, she could tell that it was pleased with itself.

She felt no fear, even at the appearance of such an evil extraplanar entity - merely a brief flash of annoyance which quickly settled into acceptance. The demon was part of the Contract that kept her 'alive', an ill-considered and corrupted bargain made in blood. Once, she might have been angry that the demon had not proactively helped her out of the coffin, but she had come to realize that such creatures would not do anything to lessen a creature's suffering unless they were forced to. Nor would it have sought the return to servitude that her awakening would bring.

She began to speak, only to remember that there was something in her mouth. Digging it out, she discovered it was a shrivelled clove of garlic, which she tossed aside. The living could be so fearful sometimes - whoever killed her must have thought she was some kind of vampire.

Her organs had long since atrophied, and now her voice was little more than a whisper. Yet her quiet order carried with it the strength of long practice and firm intent: "Await my orders from the Nether, Galarax." She turned away from the demon, having no need to watch it disappear as it returned to its home in the Twisting Nether. She climbed the steps that led to the door, finding the lock decayed by time. The door's hinges resisted stiffly (as did her own joints), but with several minutes of patient effort, she pushed it open enough to slip out into the cool, damp air beyond.

Even when dead, there was something deeply satisfying about stepping outside after a long incarceration. She could tell she was still in Tirisfal Glades, on the northern coast of the Eastern Kingdoms, though there was something odd about the trees - a darkness that clung unnaturally to their leaves and hung heavily in the air.

She closed her orbless eyes and allowed the mist to settle onto what was left of her skin and flesh. After a few moments, there was a quiet rustling noise from beside her. Startled, she opened her eyes, finding another walking corpse lurking beside the mausoleum door she had just exited. It was missing both of its lower legs, and was using a pair of Y-shaped branches jammed into its armpits to hold itself upright. Its clothing, however, was tidy and practical, having been tailored to its missing legs. Wooden caps had been fitted to the bones where its kneecaps had once been.

"Greetings," the creature wheezed. "My name is Ropart. I represent the Banshee Queen and the Forsaken of Undercity. You are newly risen, are you? Know that you are welcome here, as are all free-willed dead."

Necri regarded the creature steadily, evaluating the intent behind its words. These 'Forsaken' must be a new political entity in the area, though she remembered nothing by that name in Tirisfal. A civilization of the dead, led by a Banshee? This sounded quite interesting indeed. But caution was warranted.

"Greetings, Ropart," she responded as formally as her whispers could manage. "I am known as Necri, and I have indeed just risen."

The truth was, she had no idea how long she had been dead, this time. She had a lot to learn.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"What happened here?"

Necri and Ropart had begun walking along a dirt path away from the mausoleum. Her whispered question was driven by the corruption laced darkly through the once-beautiful Tirisfal Glades. The trees, she had discovered on closer inspection, had taken on darker tints, their trunks oozing black sap and their leaves dripping off the branches like oil. A low, creeping mist clung to every surface. She couldn't see or hear any birds or other natural forest animals, but on one side of the path, a giant, glistening spider methodically spun a great web between two trees. On the other side, a pair of red-winged bats almost as tall as herself hung from tree branches.

Ropart walked beside Necri, making good time with his two canes, despite missing both of his legs at the knee. He was silent for a long moment, but then managed, "It is a long story."

"Stories usually are," Necri nodded. "When last I saw this place, the trees were clear and the forest had a great life to it." She eyed the spider, which fortunately was ignoring them.

"Then you are from before our time," Ropart sounded surprised. "Our Queen was the first of us; she freed us from the..." he paused in his speech. "No. Let me start at the beginning, as much as I know it. Do you know of the kingdom of Lordaeron?"

Necri shook her head. "I remember only the Empire of Arathor, and the founding of the City of Dalaran."

"Arathor!" Ropart stopped walking to stare up at her. "But Dalaran was founded over two thousand years ago!"

It was Necri's turn to be surprised, though she did her best to not let it show. Two thousand years! What could possibly have kept her dead for so long? Usually it would have been a matter of days, or weeks at the most, before her spirit returned to whatever was left of her body and the resurrection process began. She thought again of the cloth wrappings and the stake and garlic, which she had initially dismissed as harmless trappings of a superstitious undead-hunter who had mistaken her for a vampire. Without -some- sort of magic, there would have been no way that those objects would have survived that long without decaying into dust. Even the coffin itself should have long since decomposed. Someone had wanted to keep her down for a -long- time.

Ropart was still talking. "After Arathor and the Elves defeated the Trolls, some of the humans moved north and founded Lordaeron, which lasted as one of the Seven Kingdoms for two thousand years. It was a shining beacon of nobility... an empire of great honour and valour."

At this point, his voice seemed to gather bitterness from the surrounding mists, "And then, only a few years ago, a young prince of Lordaeron named Arthas was corrupted by a great evil. He brought a massive army of undead back here, and utterly destroyed the kingdom in a matter of days. He raised many of the dead into servants of his Scourge, all of them enslaved to his undying will."

He paused, then continued more proudly, "But one of the Elves he had taken, Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, managed to break his control over her mind, and set to freeing others. This is why she is now our Queen! She named us 'the Forsaken' and founded Undercity, beneath the ruins of what was once our home. Eventually, Arthas was defeated, and the remains of the Scourge quieted down. Though, there are still some places that are infested and dangerous."

Necri listened silently, taking this in. The name of Windrunner was vaguely familiar, but she needed more information to place it. She spoke in her whispering voice. "And this is where you are taking me - to Undercity?"

Ropart nodded enthusiastically, and pointed ahead of them. "You can see the Zeppelin towers over the next hill. Beyond them are the city ruins."

"Zeppelin?" Necri was confused by the unfamiliar word.

"Airships! They keep us connected to the rest of the Horde... oh, wait." Ropart looked distinctly uncomfortable and his words stumbled to a halt. Necri patiently waited for him to explain, allowing the awkwardness to grow until he finally began to speak again.

"The survivors of Lordaeron, and the rest of the human nations, did not take well to our ... resurrection. We were rejected, exiled, and hunted by the living humans and their allies. So we joined forces with the only other military force in the world who would take us in as equals - the Horde. It's led by the Orcs, which of course you don't know about either. I'm sorry, there's just so much, it's hard to summarize."

"That is fine," Necri replied, though it was anything but. Even back in her time, her people had certainly been wary - even fearful - of her undead nature, but there had never been anything like a formal declaration of exile against her. To be rejected so thoroughly by one's people was deeply troubling.

And the way he had said 'the only -other- military force' implied much about the humans' capabilities. "You are doing your best, and I am thankful for your introduction. I would truly have been lost without it. Let us continue our journey."

As the pair crested the final hill, Necri got a look at the ruins of what had once obviously been a great city. Enough of its crumbling walls and white stone towers remained that she could easily envision its former majesty. It clearly would have commanded an imposing presence throughout the area.

Two spindly, rickety towers of black wood stood before the walls. Roped to one of them was an elongated balloon, with a wooden boat-shaped structure suspended below it. Assuming that this was one of the 'zeppelins' that Ropart had spoken of, she watched as its lines were cast off, and it gracefully sailed off through the skies. Elegant transportation indeed.

"The humans oppose the Horde, then?" Necri asked, as they passed through the shadow of the towers and approached the city's shattered gates.

"Yes. The humans are part of the Alliance of Lordaeron, together with the Dwarves and Night Elves. The Orcs are allied with the Tauren, Trolls, Blood Elves, and now the Goblins." Ropart jabbed a cane toward the retreating zeppelin. "The Goblins brought us technological marvels like that."

While the airships were certainly interesting, something different caught Necri's attention. "Blood Elves? I thought the Elves sided with the humans."

"There are different kinds of Elves," Ropart shrugged. "I'm not sure of the differences, really, except that some of them hate us, and the rest ... tolerate us. In fact, you could say that about most races. I don't know a lot about -our- Elves, except they come from a ruined island north of here, their leader went insane, and they're all hopelessly addicted to magic."

Necri stopped and leaned against the cold stone wall, stunned by this news. She remembered very little of her living life; the transition to undeath had purged great swathes of her memories. But she could clearly envision the island that he had spoken of: Quel'Danas, home of the High Elves and their mystic font of power called the Sunwell. She had visited it even before her first death, awed by the beauty and power of the Elven architecture and people. So great had the Sunwell's energies been, that she believed beyond doubt that no harm could come to the Elves while it protected them.

But now - the Isle... ruined? The Elves calling themselves Blood instead of High, and allied against their age-old human friends? Was -everything- she knew gone from the world?

"And what of Strom?" She asked weakly. "What happened to my home?"

"Stromgarde?" Ropart knitted what little remained of his brows. "Ruined only a few years ago by Ogres. There were survivors, but... they are resolutely allied with the other human nations, and they have no love at all for us."

Her old world -was- dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They wound their way through the ruined streets of Lordaeron, passing a number of shambling corpses. The people - former humans, almost exclusively - had all suffered some level of damage or rot. Some were missing entire limbs or chunks of torso.

"We were Arthas' shock troops," Ropart explained, while his canes and knee-caps clicked rhythmically across the misaligned cobblestones. "The front lines against his enemies. He didn't care if our bodies were torn apart, so most of the dead who survived have some form of irreparable damage. Some hide their disabilities, others flaunt them like a badge of honour... but most just accept them and try their best to move on."

The pair now entered a large central courtyard, beyond which was a great building that was likely once a keep or castle. Dozens of undead occupied the courtyard; some were talking, others studying. One was trying to fish in the green-tinted water that filled the remains of the moat. Necri even counted several merchant carts and kiosks scattered around. She slowed her pace near one of these, its counter obscured behind a cluster of customers. Finally managing to catch a glimpse of its wares, she was surprised to see the counter littered with scraps and shards of broken household items. Even in her few moments of observation, several of the items were snapped up, seemingly at random.

As she stepped back to Ropart's side, he explained in a low voice, "Memories. Even the smallest, basest piece of home can be of tremendous value to those who have lost everything. Sometimes, it doesn't even have to be -their- home. For many, any piece that might remind them of their former lives is valuable."

Ropart stopped at another merchant who was selling cloth wares. A few coins changed hands, then he turned back to Necri. "Pick a cloak."

He noted her puzzled expression, and his mouth twitched in a wry grin. "Few here care about clothing or lack thereof, but one does not have a royal audience while wearing the barest scraps of grave-bindings."

Necri hadn't even noticed her near-nudity, but she took the hint and picked up a shabby grey cloak, settling it around her shoulders and clasping it closed at the throat. The merchant bustled around to her and made a great fuss over the fitting of the garment, attention which Necri patiently endured to avoid offending him. Then she and Ropart were off again, crossing a short bridge and ascending the wide stairs that would lead them into the castle.

As they stepped into the echoing, whispering antechamber, Necri felt it best to try and get a better idea of her future direction. "So what am I to do, once we get into the Undercity?"

"I will be taking you to our Queen. Those who died during the fall of Lordaeron are well-known to us, but I have been asked to bring any others with... special circumstances to her directly."

"And what is she likely to do?"

"Talk, probably. You are not the first free-willed dead to have come our way from other places. She is always very interested to speak with such individuals. I imagine she will want to know how you became undead."

The idea of this concerned Necri greatly. She would have to be very careful what information she provided to the Queen.

A thought occurred to her. "Ropart, why were you waiting at the mausoleum?"

His smile was lopsided, but proud. "I am a caretaker. I travel to all the old graveyards and mausoleums, I maintain them and keep them safe from grave robbers. And if I see any risen dead, like yourself, I escort them to the city so that they may join our society - if they wish, of course. Nobody is forced or coerced into joining us."

"You keep the graves safe?" Necri looked down at the half-legged man, somewhat in disbelief that he could fend off rats, never mind determined humans.

"There's more life in these bones than you might think." He glanced sideways up at her. "There are those who want to desecrate or destroy those old mausoleums, but it's the possibilities of people like yourself for which we keep them intact."

She didn't feel the need to tell him that the worst any mortal could do to her, would be to delay her return from the dead.

They stepped into Lordaeron's abandoned throne room, several years of disuse showing in the ragged finery that once graced the walls and floor. This was obviously not the room used by Undercity's Queen. Ropart led her down a narrow side passage that ran underneath the nobles' balconies, which then angled downward and opened into a claustrophobic burial chamber. There was a single imposing stone crypt in the centre of the chamber, but Ropart did not stop.

The corridor continued on the other side of the chamber, and ended at a small doorway built into the stone wall. As they approached the doorway, a muscular form loomed out of the shadows, a green-skinned humanoid in savage-looking heavy armour. Its beady eyes narrowed at their approach, fixating on Necri in particular. Necri did not recognize the creature's race, but a nudge from Ropart cautioned her to follow his lead, keeping her eyes down and saying nothing. She thought they had passed it without incident.

Until a heavy mailed gauntlet fell onto her shoulder.

The creature spat some words at Ropart in a guttural tongue, to which he quickly replied in the same language. The exchange continued, and Necri could feel the creature's grip steadily tightening on her shoulder, the metal edges of its gauntlet digging into the remnants of her skin. Though it didn't hurt, she soon had enough of it.

She brought a hand out of the cloak and gently touched the back of the gauntlet. She breathed a single word, feeling dark energy building within herself. She understood that this creature stood guard over the city, and had no wish to disable it permanently, merely to have it remove the offending limb from her person. She allowed the barest fragment of the energy to coil down her arm and dissipate into the creature's living aura, where she knew it would instantly inflame the nerves in searing pain.

With a yell, the hand was jerked away, and she turned to face its owner. Ropart had paused, his eyes wide at her daring. The green-skinned creature bared its fangs, glared at her, and raised its axe threateningly.

Necri had already come to terms with the fact that the language spoken by the dead had not changed in thousands of years. There had been no difficulty communicating with Ropart even from the first; yet here was this creature speaking a completely different tongue, and expecting others to do the same. She recalled Ropart speaking of the Orcs, the leaders of the Horde, and assumed this was one of them.

Into the silence, Necri whispered, "Guard, do you speak the language of those you protect?"

The axe paused. Without shifting its gaze from her, it spat a condescending question at Ropart, who answered with what was obviously a negative.

"I should -kill- you for that," the creature growled in her language.

"In -my- time, I would have killed -you- for laying a hand on me," she responded simply. "And I -will-, if you do so again." She focused her will on the creature's eyes, feeling no fear at all at his seething glare. The yellow spirit-lights in her eyes flared with the dark power she held at ready within her mind.

Finally, the guard spat on the floor at Necri's feet. "Take your prize to your Queen, cripple. And make sure you teach her -respect-."

Ropart backed away, finally coming to the doorway at the end of the corridor, which he opened to reveal a tiny room. Necri turned to follow him, but kept her ears open for any sound that might indicate the guard was moving to attack.

The door closed behind the two, and Ropart slumped against the wall. "He could have killed you - both of us - without hesitation."

"That was an Orc, then." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes. The Horde's Warchief forced us to accept Orcish guards. There was a certain revolutionary element that made its home here, last year, and though that has been purged, our leaders still do not trust us."

"So we are disliked, even by our allies," Necri sighed. Some things never changed.

Ropart didn't respond to that. Instead, he pulled a lever in the wall, and Necri was startled when the floor began to move downward, the walls rising wetly around them. "It uses water pressure to move up and down," Ropart explained, keeping his balance with little effort. Soon, the elevator had stopped its descent, revealing a sealed doorway which Ropart pulled open, allowing the bustling noise of a city to rush over them. They stepped out of the elevator room, closing the door behind them, and walked down a short corridor past another guard (who, fortunately, was utterly disinterested in them). The noise grew steadily. Finally, the corridor opened into a cavernous cylindrical chamber, hundreds of feet across and ringed with stone walkways, staircases and platforms. Hundreds of people, both dead and alive, conducted business around her.

"Welcome to Undercity," Ropart gestured expansively with a cane. "Home of the dead."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ropart and Necri were largely ignored as they descended around the rim of the great central chamber of Undercity. In contrast to the broken 'memories' for sale in the courtyard above, here endless crafted goods of much more reasonable quality were found.

The living also made their presence known. There were a number of Elves bargaining with the merchants, as well as short, green-skinned folk that Ropart identified as Goblins. The Elves displayed their typical calm aloofness, but the Goblins seemed energetic about -everything- they did; dashing about and arguing passionately as if the fate of the world depended on their decisions.

Necri also noticed that almost all the inhabitants grew quiet and wary whenever one of the guards strolled near. The guards seemed to enjoy this fear. Like bullies of any era, they cultured it and expected it, and became instantly suspicious of those who failed to provide the proper reaction.

Ropart continued navigating them through the maze of walkways, working his way down and around to the far side. Finally they left the chamber behind, walking through quieter corridors and crossing bridges that arched over sickly green water. Necri saw several torchlit alcoves in which small groups clustered classroom-like around central figures; whether teaching or preaching, she was not sure.

When the Orcish guards were replaced by undead wearing heavy armour, Necri knew they were getting close. Ropart was obviously her key to the Queen; the guards respectfully stepped aside as soon as they saw him. She also caught a few curious looks directed her way, but this didn't surprise her. If the only people he brought this way were the 'unusual' undead, she would expect such reactions. She said nothing and kept her eyes focused in front of her.

The royal chamber surprised her. A dome-shaped room, approximately sixty yards across, with a raised dais of half that diameter in the middle. Several people - primarily Elves and undead - stood clustered around in urgent conversation. There was no throne, not even a chair, but the commanding presence that stood at the room's centre left no doubt as to the identity of the Banshee Queen.

She wore no crown or gilded robes. Instead, a ranger's black leathers and travelling cloak graced her lithe frame. She was obviously dead like her subjects, yet complete and flawless of flesh and skin. Her eyes burned crimson as they turned to take in the newly-arrived pair. The gaze was uncomfortable but not angry; there was power there, but no direct intent.

"Who have you brought us, Caretaker?" The Queen's voice was clear and vibrant, cutting off the other murmured conversations.

Ropart bowed as best as he could with his canes. "My Queen, this is Necri. She awoke from one of the ancient mausoleums in Venomweb Vale. I brought her straight to you, as you instructed."

Again taking her cue from Ropart, Necri bowed low, ensuring the cloak stayed demurely closed. When she straightened, the Queen was standing not ten feet away. "Those mausoleums have been sealed for over a thousand years. Tell me of yourself, Necri."

Necri knew her whisper-quiet voice would not normally suffice for such a chamber, but in the utter silence that followed the Queen's question, her answer was audible to all. "The age of those Mausoleums does not surprise me, your Majesty. I appear to be missing substantial and important sections of my memory, but my last clear recollection is of the founding of the city of Dalaran."

A collective gasp went around the room like wildfire. The Queen waited calmly for the shock to die down around her. "And why have you awoken -now-?"

Necri inclined her head. "I would very much like to know the answer to that question as well. My last death was carefully and deliberately executed. It is quite possible that I was intended never to return at all."

"Do you know who, or why?"

"Not yet. There were certain trappings to my burial that show I was laid to rest deliberately, but I remember nothing of the circumstances."

"You will be investigating this." It wasn't a question, or a request.

"Beyond any doubt," Necri gave a half-bow, acknowledging the order for what it was.

"Who were you, before your death?"

Necri had expected that question. "I was a sorcerer and enchanter of Arathor, and still consider myself such."

Her earlier revelation about the founding of Dalaran took the edge off the murmur that echoed through the chamber, but the Queen still waited for it to subside before continuing. "Arathor is long gone, and what remains of it will no longer accept you."

"I am aware, your Majesty. Ropart explained much of what has happened to the humans of this area, since my death. I keenly feel the loss of Strom, my home, but I must move onward."

"Then I invite you to become a citizen of Undercity. You would swear allegiance to me, and by extension, the Horde and its Warchief. We all share the duties of protection and advancement of our race, and the Horde as a whole."

Necri took a moment to plan her response. It would be easiest, of course, to simply agree to these terms - but she rarely did anything just because it was -easy-.

"I beg you to forgive the impertinence, your Majesty, but may I ask a question before I do so?"

The hushed gasps around the room and the Queen's ever-so-slightly arched brow spoke volumes about the unexpected response.

"You may." Was that a slight smile on her face?

"The old alliances that I knew in life are dead. Strom has been destroyed, the living humans and many of the Elves are our mortal foes. Kingdoms, empires and revolutions have come and gone. I understand that, whether or not I ally myself with you, the dead have few friends in this world. My question is this: By accepting your generous offer, who else becomes my enemy?"

"A valid question, and one that you are within your rights to ask. You are correct that the dead have few allies. Our living brethren - human and Elven - despise and fear us. This is why we have cast our lot with the Horde. So I would answer your question with a question: Do you have more to gain by having the entire Horde at your side, or more to lose from being alone?"

Necri's question deftly avoided, yet the answer perfectly accurate. "I accept your offer."

The Queen raised her voice, though she had no need to do so. "I call upon all present to witness these events." Deftly and silently, she drew a thin Elven sword from her belt. "Kneel." Necri did, and felt the blade come to gentle rest on her shoulder. "Repeat after me."

"I, Necri of Arathor, declare my allegiance to the Forsaken, and accept you, Queen Sylvanas Windrunner, as my liege, and to your lawful successors likewise. I will serve and fight when called, and will hold no secrets from you or deceptions against you. Together, we are stronger than either of us alone."

Necri's whispered repetition of the words filled the silence of the chamber.

"And in return, I and the Forsaken will stand with you against our enemies. Arise, Necri of the Forsaken." The blade was lifted, briefly touched her other shoulder, then withdrawn.

Necri rose to general applause.

Once calm had returned, the Queen turned her head fractionally to the side. "Ambassador Sunsorrow, can you determine the strength of her magical ability?"

One of the Elves stepped forward, his long red hair almost matching the brightness of his robe. His eyes glowed green with arcane energies, though unlike Necri, he still had orbs in the sockets. Necri turned to him and smiled. "If you plan to open yourself to my aura, you may wish to take caution and prepare yourself."

Sunsorrow just gave her an enigmatic look and a dismissive wave of his hand. She watched calmly as he cast a simple spell that would open his magical sight.

She completely expected his sudden look of abject disgust. She knew what he had seen.

Demons in the physical world had discrete bodies. They could be attacked with swords and spells, and driven back to the Twisting Nether when those bodies were disrupted. Their magical essences, and the shadows they left on the auras of those who summoned them, were horrible and alien to behold. Necri herself was long since inured to the effect; it had been her choice to bind herself to the demonic forces in the first place.

Since then, she had learned techniques that ensured that -she- was in control of -them-. At the same time, she knew full well that the creatures were vastly intelligent and entirely malevolent. They would free themselves and cause endless chaos if she ever gave them the slightest opening to do so.

Sunsorrow found his voice, and it dripped with disdain. "She's no sorcerer, she's a warlock! And a strong one, at that."

The word was new to her, but she could grasp the context of it. The most disturbing thing he had just seen was the demonic stain on her aura. The fact that there was a -word- for that now implied that others had figured out how to bind such beings; that it was a known magical practice.

Perhaps not a particularly -accepted- one, however.

The Queen gave her a thoughtful look. "Demonic magics are not unknown, Necri, either in this city or in the Horde as a whole. In fact, it was the Orcs themselves who brought the study to our world. Yet your skills would seem to predate their arrival. This intrigues me. I would have you speak with Carendin Halgar in our Arcane Quarter, such that we can be assured that you have these beings under control."

"Of course, your Majesty."

"Then it is done. Caretaker, please escort Necri to Carendin, and explain to him what needs to be done."

While Necri had no desire at all to be subjected to any form of analysis, she was very curious to meet more of the new world's magic users, especially those, like herself, who used demonic energies. With a final bow to the Queen, Ropart led her from the royal chamber.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Necri waited until they were away from the Royal Quarter of Undercity before asking, "So, who is this Carendin Halgar?"

"I don't even recognize the name," Ropart shook his head. "I spend very little time in the city. So we're going to just head for the Arcane Quarter and ask around."

They made their way under low stone arches and along narrow walkways beside a stagnant moat of algae-laden water, which seemed to roughly follow the circular outskirts of the city's central chamber. They walked along the outside edge of the moat's circle, slowly working their way around Undercity's perimeter. Across the slimy stream, the inside of the curve held the teaching-alcoves she had seen earlier.

She pointed. "What are they doing there?"

"Those are the crafting areas. It is the way we share our skills and knowledge with others. Each citizen of Undercity must contribute some form of skill or resource to the community, but not all the risen can remember what they did in life. So, we provide them with teachers, trainers and places to practice. You said you are an Enchanter? You might wish to introduce yourself in the Apothecarium, once we are done."

The word was new to Necri, so she asked Ropart about it.

"I don't know much about the place. Like I said, I don't spend a lot of time down here. But I know that's where the Alchemists and Transmuters go to practice their trades.

"If I am to stay here, and be part of this community, it would certainly be a good idea. We likely have much to teach each other."

They walked on in relative silence after that. After half an hour, their path opened into a large cavern. It was almost half the size of the central trading area, and dominated by a stepped, green-lit pyramid carved from stone and decorated with the skulls of many creatures. Mystical circles in various shades of glowing ink lay scattered around the base of the pyramid.

Ropart's voice was hushed. "Some of the structures are from the time the Scourge occupied the sewers of Lordaeron. They enlarged the existing tunnels and carved strange features. We've removed some, but the most practical ones were left intact."

As they neared the pyramid, silence pressed down on them like a felt blanket, broken only by an occasional chant or spell. Several undead clustered near the circles, deep in unheard conversation. A single elderly-seeming male stood by himself, glaring intently at the newly-arrived pair.

"Let's ask him where Carendin is," Necri nudged Ropart. "He certainly seems interested enough in us."

Ropart nodded, and the two headed in that direction. The man's scowl deepened as they approached.

It seemed impolite to break the oppressive silence in the area, so Necri waited until they were quite close before greeting him. He was undead, like everyone else, his hair white and stringy. He wore a threadbare red and black robe, and and a blood-red mist leaked from the gen set into the upper end of his staff.

"Good day, sir-", Necri began.

"It most certainly is -not-", the man interrupted, spitting his raspy words like sparks.

Necri paused, not having expected such vehemence, and decided to keep things simple and short. "We are looking for Carendin Halgar."

"Why?" His eyes narrowed.

Ropart interjected, "Because the Banshee Queen ordered us to!"

"Faugh! You're one of those Caretakers, aren't you?" The man turned away from them with a dismissive wave. "What's this then, another newcomer to train? We don't need 'em. Go take up knitting or something!"

"No, I most certainly will -not-." Necri's voice was quiet, but forceful.

"Maybe you didn't -hear- me, lady. We're not taking any more of you bored, talentless idiots. Get lost!" He turned his back on the pair and crossed his arms over his chest.

Necri kept herself outwardly calm, but inside, she let the dark power begin to simmer, feeding on her irritation. "Your Queen," she stressed the word significantly, "who is now also -my- Queen, sent me with specific instructions-"

"I don't-"

"Listen!" she hissed, cutting off his interruption and thrusting her face to within inches of his. "My instructions are to find Carendin Halgar, such that he could evaluate my control over my summoned minions. I am no 'newcomer' to the arcane arts, to be dismissed like an apprentice, and I take my recently-given loyalty -extremely- seriously. You -will- either identify yourself as Carendin, or tell me where he might be."

"Fine, you obnoxious twat. I -am- Carendin. Let's get this over with." He jabbed a bony finger at the nearby arcane circle. "Summon an imp - if you can - and I'll watch your technique."

Necri straightened her back and stretched her limbs. She had no intention of summoning an imp. While certainly annoying when left to their own devices, the tiny creatures were amongst the least of their kind, and presented no challenge at all to her.

She collected her power, and stretched out a hand to touch the magical aura emanating from the circle, gently entwining it through her fingers. Then, she flipped her wrist, clutched her hand into a tight fist to solidify the connection, and hissed the words of the summoning spell: "_Au ak'jir yo'tat Shivarra!"_

The circle blazed with violet light. Carendin's face opened in shock as he understood what she was doing, but by then it was too late. Uncoiling in the centre of the circle was a tall, six-armed female humanoid, four of its hands wielding twin greatswords of jagged silver and liquid green poison. Its bruise-coloured skin, bloodied fangs, and blazing eyes ensured it would never be mistaken for a 'natural' creature, despite its voluptuous curves. The Shivarra usually acted as leaders of vast hordes of demons; seducers and controllers that often reported directly to the great pit lords. They -hated- to be summoned. To be able to force one to appear was a direct expression of the power of the arcanist's will.

Necri's job was not done. As Sylvanas had known, there was a world of difference between -summoning- a demon and -controlling- it. She concentrated on the binding ritual, forming magical chains around the Shivarra's seething spirit that would force the creature to obey her will.

And obey her, it must. "Bow to this one," she ordered it, pointing at Carendin. "Then kneel."

Above all else, demons loathed to abase themselves before mortals. They saw themselves as perfect beings, the ultimate in creation, fated to rule the entire cosmos. To kneel before such a lesser creature would be akin to a human paying homage to an insect. Only complete control could drive such an act. Yet this was exactly what the Shivarra did. Necri did not miss the murderous glare the creature gave her.

"Show-off," she heard Carendin mutter.

Necri paced a full circle around the demon. "And my bindings?"

"Your style is archaic, but effective," he grudgingly admitted. "I see no flaws. Who taught you?"

"Elves," she whispered simply. "Do you have a dagger I could borrow?"

Frowning in confusion at her, Carendin pulled out a cheap iron ritual dagger, dulled and pitted from use. She took the weapon, and once again walked around the still-kneeling demon until she was behind it. She took a moment to familiarize herself with the heft of the dagger; it was a poor tool for what she had planned, but the symbolism was far more important than the physical form anyway. With some effort, she opened her mind's eye and forced her aura to extend down the handle and into the blade.

After that preparatory work, the spell itself was simple: "Ko'tar'i yo'tal gh'ehen!" She plunged the dagger into the surprised Shivarra's back, feeling the shock as her aura was surrounded by its poisonous corruption. But before the demon could react to the sudden attack, its life-force and latent magic imploded violently into the blade, through it, and into Necri herself. The demon's desiccated husk crumpled to the ground, where it quickly decayed into dust.

Necri closed her eyes and let the influx of power rush through her. Every fibre of her being hummed with it. Forcing herself to concentrate despite the overwhelming feelings, she carefully and tightly wove the extra energy into her aura. Because she had sacrificed such a powerful demon, even her senses were enhanced; when she opened her eyes again, every feature of the cavern was etched in impossibly-intricate detail. She could even make out the great line of ley energy that passed through the pyramid, where it was coiled and caught for use by the arcanists there. Virtually everyone in the cavern was now staring directly at her, including a few notable recent arrivals.

She turned slowly back to Carendin, whose face was frozen in shock and anger. Rather than speak using her damaged and decayed vocal cords, she flared her aura outward, projecting her words with her much stronger telepathic voice: And what are your thoughts now, arcanist? Do my skills pass muster?

Carendin's temper flared. "There's no Blood Elf, alive or dead, that casts bindings like that!" he roared, pointing a shaking finger at her.

I never claimed it was a -Blood- Elf. She let a resonant chuckle creep into her thoughts. I was one of the first one hundred humans taught to use arcane magic by the High Elves of Quel'Danas, in order to defeat the Amani Trolls. Together, we commanded vast elemental energies, but after the war, we were left to our own devices. It was -my- idea to speak with a captured demon of the Burning Legion, first to contract with it, and later to steal its power outright. I became immortal as a result, and my magic ... changed.

A clear voice rang out through the chamber. "I think we've seen and heard enough, don't you agree, Carendin?" The spectators all whirled around and bowed low as the Queen strode forth to stand near to the three. Two of her advisors, including the Blood Elf Ambassador Sunsorrow, accompanied her. Necri was not surprised; she had felt their presence earlier. She turned to the Queen with deliberate slowness and bowed.

"My Q-queen!" Carendin stammered. "What she claims is preposterous!"

"Yet given this display of her abilities, I am inclined to believe her."

Sunsorrow shot Necri an inscrutable look, then whispered urgently in the Queen's ear. Knowing that he was able to see her aura, Necri did not attempt to use her stolen power to overhear him. The Queen responded with a nod, and turned to Necri. Her voice carried through the chamber. "You are free to go, Necri. I would not be surprised if many individuals here had questions for you, but it is your choice when, or if, you respond to them. I know you have your own important quest ahead of you. In the meantime, should you need anything, I am sure that Carendin and the other arcanists will be -pleased- to assist you." The word was deliberately stressed to ensure that it would not be misinterpreted as a request. "Caretaker, it is time for you to return to your duties." With that, the Queen and her advisors left the chamber.

_Simultaneously recognizing the inevitable and protecting her from it_, Necri noted in appreciation. She was now essentially alone in a strange world, but rather than feeling lost at the prospect, she was excited. She had tasks and mysteries before her, and the freedom to meet them head on.

Ropart approached her. "As you heard, I have to go. But before I do, please accept this." He pressed a small pouch into her hand. "Though we do not sleep or eat, it is easier to get started in the world with a few coins to your name." Necri felt the comfortable weight of the pouch and nodded in thanks.

Ropart bowed and left, and Carendin stalked off, glowering. A dozen other individuals hovered at various distances. Necri knew she could easily turn her back on them and play the standoffish, mysterious foreigner, but she needed them as allies.

Come forward, then she offered telepathically. But if anybody asks stupid questions like 'is it true?', that will be the end of it.

Slowly, hesitantly, the dead ones drifted closer to her. Some were awed, others curious, a few doubtful. One in particular, a female wearing the tattered remnants of a bridal gown, shambled carefully forward and bowed awkwardly. She was missing half of her left arm, and by the way the dress freely hung, probably most of her abdomen as well.

"Would you teach us?" Her words were slow and laboured, though not confined to a whisper like Necri's. There was a murmur of assent from the others.

How I obtained this power, cannot be taught. Necri shook her head. While I still lived, I signed a contract with a demon. From that contract I obtained power and immortality. Certain aspects of the contract were shown to be mutable, and it is from these parts that I gained my ability to summon, command, and sacrifice the demons who thought to lord themselves over me. My lack of attention to -other- sections turned my expected eternal youth into this state of undeath. I consider myself to have been skilled, prepared, and relatively lucky. I have seen many others fail miserably while attempting to follow in my footsteps. Those failures tend to have ... damning consequences, and do little but strengthen the Burning Legion's armies. 

A voice shouted from the back. "But we are Warlocks! We also summon demons!"

Unless I am mistaken, you do so using established procedures, under controlled circumstances, until you can reliably demonstrate your skill to your instructors?

There was a murmur of agreement through the crowd.

Then continue to do so. Listen to your teachers. -That- is the method by which you can learn. Necri raised her telepathic voice for emphasis. Demons are intelligent, cunning, and entirely malevolent. When dealing with them, there are no shortcuts without dire consequences. Remember this.

She turned to walk away, ignoring the groans of disappointment, then paused. But there are certainly techniques you can use to reinforce your bindings and improve your control. Perhaps, once I have completed my tasks, I will return to demonstrate some of them. -If- your teachers agree.

With that, she walked away from the group, leaving them to their discussions.

-End Part 1-


End file.
